Category Archives: Poem

Snow-Bound, For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 693, Feb 8, 2025

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Snow-Bound

When I saw the prompt words, I knew it would be topical
to talk about a climate that was anything but tropical.
Truly, in the past I have trudged through sludge and snow,
my socks sodden and water-soaked by the fire’s glow.
Despite those still-clear memories, I have some reservations––
a few inner thoughts about those former titillations
felt while swooping down a ski hill, zooming up the rise
of the hill that rose again at the old hill’s demise.
For sure, snow is a despot. It chills and then it freezes,
leaving souvenirs of grippe, sniffles, coughs and sneezes.
But oh what memories we might have, in fact I’m sure we will
of strapping on those sticks just meant for zooming down the hill,
and even though we started at various reckless paces,
somehow, some (and I was one) landed on our faces.

The prompt words for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 693 are: past climate water trudge sludge sodden despite despot rise demise few inner

“The Ballad of Henry and Ruth” For MVB, Feb 8, 2025

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For the MVB prompt of “Candy Bar” today, I am reblogging a poem written a few years ago:

The Ballad of Henry and Ruth

Before she met him at the candy store,
her days were empty and her life was a bore;
but when he offered her his Jujyfruits,
in just a moment they were in cahoots.
He was the drummer in a R&R band.
Down all 5th Avenue, he held her hand.
She felt his pulse beat pump a sweet love tune
and knew he’d be her Sugar Daddy soon.

Chorus:

Yes she met him at the candy store,
between the sucker rack and front screen door.
He nearly tripped over her Mary Janes
and crashed into a rack of Candy Canes.
The Double Bubble and the Tootsie Roll Pops
collided with the mints and lemon drops.
Their love was written in the moon and stars,
but realized beneath the Hershey Bars!

Oh Henry, she was crooning, and much more.
He loved this Bit O’ Honey down to the core.
Shifted his Firestick and they went for a ride
his Baby Ruth snuggled right up to his side.
She cried, “Oh, Henry!” as they hit the Mounds,
poppin’ wheelies as they did the rounds.
He was no Slo-Poke, tell you here and now,
so as he swerved to miss a big Black Cow,

The car rolled over on its Rollo Bars
crashing into six  more hot rod cars.
“Atomic Fireball” said the words on his car.
Now how appropriate those two words are.
100 Grand it costs him on Payday
so he’ll be working every night and day—
his Red Hot mama working by his side,
for now his Sweet Tart is his blushing bride.

Repeat Chorus:

 And, thanks to Björn, this poem is going to the moon in the lunar codex! Who would have guessed? A friend has even set it to music, so if I can find it, I’ll add a link below or publish in a new blog.

Crowded Secret, For Writing Prompts, Feb 6, 2025

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IMG_2422

Crowded Secret

This secret
shared with only you
has become crowded.

Like a party with too many guests,
it spills up the staircase
and into private rooms.

This secret with only room for two
has nudged you out of my confidence
as this one and this one and this one

crowd in to offer advice
just as though
they had been invited.

or Writing Prompts: Secrets

The Lady Doth Protest Just Right, Methinks, for Wed. Poetry Prompt

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Does this look like a sixty year old leg to you? She posed for it!!!

The Lady Doth Protest Just Right, Methinks

Any idiot can use
Shakespeare as his means to excuse
ardor that is uninvited,
passion that is unrequited.
Just like a half-schooled jerk to quote
a line that he has learned by rote.

“The Lady Doth Protest too much. . . .”
he says as he expands his clutch.
As she then makes attempts to guard her
honor from his excess ardor,
if he won’t take her “No!” verbatim,
there is one way to educate him.

For when a lady’s had enough,
it may behoove her to get rough.
That she may return home intact
may require much less tact
and more physicality
to apprise him of reality.

A well-placed knee aimed at his tool
may seem unfairly base and cruel,
yet if mere words will not connect,
this simple action might correct.
If entreaties will not stir him,
extreme sign language might deter him.

Wednesday Poetry Prompt is “Just like ……”

Elastic, for RDP Wednesday

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Elastic
(Cyber Romance)

Our affection is elastic, stretching from here to there.
My nightly kisses reach you through a thousand miles of air.
We have a date at 2 p.m., another at eleven
or twelve or one. It matters not. This freedom is just heaven.
No scrambling for a lipstick. No reaching for our combs.
No need to leave the comforts of our cozy homes.
No reservations must be made, no flowers to be bought.
No rashes to be suffered and no colds to be caught.
We are so safe here sheltered each in our favorite place
without expending energy meeting face-to-face.
It is a cyber romance—the newest thing to do.
And instead of having babies—one, perhaps, or two,
emojis I will give thee—as many as you please.
Life is so much simpler  lived out via screens and keys.

 

 

RDPFor RDP Wednesday: Elastic

“The Rock Star’s Lament” for the Sunday Whirl Wordle # 591

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The Rock Star’s Lament

I scan the shadows for lurking fans,
as staff surveys surrounding vans.
We know their tricks, know where they gather,
and what gets them in a lather.

Their heads snap back at full attention
when they hear the very mention
of my name and flashbulbs flash.
They ask for autographs and cash.

They reach to touch or cast me gifts.
They corner me on stairs or lifts.
They feign a faint or hum a song
I’ve just recorded as they walk along

the path they know I daily walk,
hoping for a little talk.
I should feel flattered, except that it’s
exhausting to be loved to bits!!!!

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle today, the prompt words are:
touch hum flash faint gather staff tricks head snap bits cast shadows
Thanks to Sam Moghadam on Unsplash for the image.

Finite, for Just Jot It, Jan 31, 2025

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Finite

In the end, all the same.
Although remembering your name,
eventually no one knows
the you that lived inside your clothes.

They may see your charming smile,
your tender looks or cunning guile,
and still not have the faintest clue
of the authentic, inner you.

Perhaps we start out all the same;
so who’s the one that we should blame
when some turn into Phyllis Dillers
and others into serial killers?

Ghandi, Hitler, Bundy, and
the rest of us, by nature’s hand
instilled with sin or piety
in infinite variety.

But still, at end of life, we fall,
not so different after all.
At the very end of day,
returned to dust, we blow away.

For Just Jot It the prompt is to include a word with “fini” in it.

The Way, for The Unicorn Challenge. Feb 1, 2025

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The Way

The well-bricked path leads steeply down
to the bottom of the town
to mysteries that can’t be seen,
with many pleasures in-between.

Neatly stuccoed walls with doors
recessed but opening onto floors
perhaps mosaic or well-worn wood
you’d stoop to caress if you could.

Plants in front of every  dwelling
exude the green that you’ve been smelling
to balance all the brick and stone
as you walk down this road alone.

Path leads to steps to path to road
and far below, the mother lode
of other souls, milling there
beneath that final lonely stair.

Your trip down of double worth.
First lone reflection, then the mirth
of company that you knew not
all along, was what you really sought.

for The Unicorn Challenge  we are to write a short piece no longer than 250 words based on the above photograph.

Loving (More Than) Spoonfuls

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Loving (More Than) Spoonfuls

It seemed a meager portion for such a pricey place––
three peas, a single escargot. Potatoes? not a trace.
They’d spilled some brown stuff on the plate and dabbed a bit of green.
No wonder other diners all looked so very lean.

Two bites and the first course was gone, the plates all whisked away,
replaced by a sparse salad little more than mounds of hay.
A tiny slivered mass of yellow with seeds sprinkled over,
a spray of oil, some flower petals and a sprig of clover.

I looked my first date in the eye to see what he might think.
As he lifted a forkful, he gave a little wink.
We consumed their tiny lamb chops, complete with ruffled cuff
and scarfed the spoonful of dessert that wasn’t near enough.

He paid the bill, retrieved our coats and walked me to his car.
“I have another treat for you,” he said. “It isn’t far.”
He pulled up to McDonalds and ordered two big macs,
large French fries and two sodas and handed me the sacks.

Afterwards, at Dairy Queen, we sealed this new romance
with Butterfinger Blizzards and then a smoldering glance.
I accepted the next course with lips and arms most eager.
And what he served me next, my dear, was anything but meager.

I do not like posh restaurants with their nouvelle cuisine.
I find their foam and slivers and seeds and piles obscene.
Their single little vegetables hung on tiny racks?
I prefer larger portions and calories served in sacks!

And that is how we bonded, your Uncle Joe and I,
over Colonel Sanders, Taco Bell and carryout Thai.
Others may impress their dates with pricey gourmet suppers,
but my true love seduced with feasts of fast food filler-uppers!

In response to Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “Spoonful”

Trouble in the School Cafeteria, Jan 30, 2025

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The hullabaloo
in the breakfast queue 
just had to do
with those picky few
who walked the beam
on the gymnastic team
who declared the waffle
was simply awful!
Who, at the most,
could slug down the toast!

For Esther’s “Can You tell a story in. . . . ” Challenge,  the challenge was:

Can you tell a story in 38 words? You must use the following words somewhere in the story:

  • HULLABALOO
  • QUEUE
  • SLUG
  • BEAM
  • WAFFLE

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